Story of a Nun Living on Retreat

All stories and photos are purposefully mismatched to protect the identity of the individuals and their families who remain in Tibet.

I was only seven years old, but I still remember the day I became a nun. I was so excited. There were no cars in Tibet in 1936, so my mother and I went by horse to see the nunnery. We did a "mo" divination to determine that I should enter Gari, one of the three main nunneries in Lhasa. As is the custom among the wealthy, my family sponsored a three-day ceremony to celebrate my initiation into the community.

My mother and I awoke early in the morning, ate tsampa (barley flour) porridge, and offered sweet rice with butter to the nuns. These foods, considered highly auspicious, are eaten for good luck. Huge pots of our traditional Tibetan salt and butter tea were served throughout the day, as the nuns sat to pray for my auspicious beginnings as a nun. My mother and I also offered money to the nuns and white scarves called "khata" to the teachers. Relatives and other noble families arrived to place "khata" on my shoulders and make small offerings. In my new way of life, this was all I would need: robes, clothes, alms bowls, bricks of tea, and a small amount of money. I would take my vows in the coming days.

There is a saying in Tibetan, "It is rare to see a nun with gray hair." Now more than sixty years have passed since that auspicious morning of tsampa porridge. My hair is gray, my skin is browned and wrinkled, but I still am and will always be a nun.